


I want your whiskeyed mouth (All over my blonde south)

by Miele_Petite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21398413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/pseuds/Miele_Petite
Summary: Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, his knee bouncing nervously. It's getting late, and he wonders if he will have enough courage to go through with his plan. He watches as the demon drains his glass, tracks intently the thumb he traces across his bottom lip, sees his tongue flick out, just slightly, quickly, to get that last hint of whisky. The angel considers those lips for a moment. Then other parts of him consider those lips, and that tongue, and what they can do, and oh he is in trouble now.A bit of smut exploring the communication between lovers, both spoken and unspoken. :)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 173
Kudos: 591
Collections: Glorious Good Omens fic





	1. Chapter 1

Love rises up, and between them prudery is driven away, an ineffable game begins in their limbs, arms and lips. (from Carmina Burana)

Aziraphale paces, agitated, in the back room of his bookshop. He's thinking about words- about how useful they are, how steeped they are in meaning. Things are usually easy to put into words when you've read millions of them, rolled them in your mouth for centuries, equipped yourself with an arsenal of vocabulary for every occasion. But in this world reset by Adam, he and Crowley are something new, to each other, and the words he needs are changing too. Some of them have been in his head so long that it takes nothing at all for him to string them together now, out loud: _I have loved you so long_, and _you're so beautiful_, and _please stay with me._ The language of love is second nature to him, of course, and with fear removed from the equation those flood gates have opened in earnest. But at the moment he's finding himself linguistically challenged, it seems- at a loss for words- now that Crowley and he are physically intimate.

He wrings his hands, feeling ridiculous. It _is_ ridiculous, and nevertheless it's creating, for him, a problem. To put it crudely (which is not his inclination, but which is probably most appropriate), he is terribly randy. There were of course remedies to _that_, and he'd tried them to his satisfaction six times with Crowley now (he wasn't counting, though, was he?), and on his own quite a bit, but he is becoming exasperated by the speed at which his appetite returns, sometimes requiring that he deal with it in some way or another multiple times a day. He is beginning to feel that he shouldn't have started this whole business in the first place.

As he saw it there are three issues contributing to this problem. One, he is still rather new to having the apparatus that registers sexual sensation and gives him these drives. And like a teenager, he is given to understand, he doesn't have much control yet over its reaction. Just the smallest passing thought of Crowley's body can waken it and send his cheeks red. It is all so inconvenient, he has half a mind to stop making the effort, out of sheer annoyance.

The second problem is that he is, admittedly, not very good at moderation. Sexual stimulation, not unlike the pleasures of human culinary invention, does feel so very nice. But whereas he is very accustomed, after millennia of practical application, to the societal rhythms of eating (though still a tad indulgent in that regard), the pleasures of sex were largely unexplored territory. How often was one meant to engage in sexual behaviour? How much of it could one politely request from one's partner? He isn't sure, but he is beginning to expect it is less frequent than he finds himself wanting it, which leads to the third issue, and ultimately the one about words...

Crowley, for all his demonic tendencies is actually very good at moderating his impulses. He displays his extravagance mostly in his sense of style, and to Aziraphale's frustration, he is not pressing the matter, as far as their newly minted sex life is concerned. Having grown used to "keeping it in his trousers" for centuries, Crowley is setting what he thinks is a comfortable interval for the angel, trying not to initiate too frequently. This would have been all well and fine if either Crowley had understood just how thirsty Aziraphale really was, or if the angel himself didn't have such a problem telling him that very thing. But doing that... well, it was all so un-angelic. 

Wanting love in the form of the physical isn't, as a matter of course, unholy- he'd definitely understood that fully the first time they'd pressed their bodies into each other. And intercourse had been just as much a feature of the divine plan as of any demonic ones, when he thought about it. But for him to speak about it in terms of what he wants, and in the way that Crowley can do, that definitely still feels off limits. 

There were words that he knew to say, but getting them to come out, as an angel, is just impossible. He really wants to ask for so many things, but well, he is the_ nice_ one and can hardly be expected to just come out with _fuck me already, you fiend_. And surely, Aziraphale reasons, if Crowley wanted more, he'd just come out and say so, wouldn't he? He'd never shied away from asking for favours as part of the arrangement, and as an angel he would have expected him, as a demon, to be far more comfortable with the language to facilitate the conversation. So the only conclusion he can draw is that Crowley must be content with the frequency of their love-making, and if that is true, would it be appropriate for him to ask for more? (Also, even if he could, Aziraphale can't bear the idea that Crowley might then insinuate he was the lustful one. Tsk. He'd be unbearable.)

He's been wrestling with this conundrum (and his desires) for months now, and he's still no closer to solving it. Now it's been a whole sixteen days since the demon had proposed a coupling (but again, he's not counting, of course), and he is getting pent up just thinking about it. He needs to tell Crowley what he wants, but finding the words are still a problem. Saying things intentionally with his body is not his strong suit either, he reflects. Not like Crowley, whose overt gestures he can read like a book- the way he swaggers when he walks, how he grips the wheel of the Bentley so tight when he's nervous, that irritatingly easy smile he does, when he says something to deliberately wind him up. No, the idea of signalling his sexual availability with his body seems a bit of a long shot, but if he can let it do the talking for a change, he might get his message across without actually having to spell it out specifically? I mean, he has to try. He can't take this much longer.

* * *

That evening, by the time they'd met up for dinner and had adjourned to Crowley's flat for a digestif of his favourite single malt and to listen to an exceptional recording of Carmina Burana at the demon's suggestion, Aziraphale was squirming uncomfortably with need. Had those lyrics always been so provocative, he wonders? Next to him, Crowley is spread casually across the sofa, seeming as unperturbed as ever.

Crowley downs the last of his scotch and drags the heel of his hand across his mouth. He wants to suggest they go to bed now, but Aziraphale rarely sleeps and he doesn't know if it's too soon to propose that they do something else in there. On the one hand, the angel _has_ _made an effort_ these past few months, and definitely does not seem reluctant about what they'd done so far... But on the other hand, he knows from the experience gained during the span of their very long friendship, that Mr. _You Go Too Fast For Me _could be fairly capricious. It had taken him almost half a millennia to talk Aziraphale into the Arrangement, for Satan's sake. He definitely doesn't want to chance pushing the angel too far and have him decide it's too much. He has to play it cool, take his time. No matter how much he wants to pound Aziraphale into the couch right now. He sets his glass on the coffee table.

Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, his knee bouncing nervously. It's getting late, and he wonders if he will have enough courage to go through with his plan. He watches as the demon drains his glass, tracks intently the thumb he traces across his bottom lip, sees his tongue flick out, just slightly, quickly, to get that last hint of whisky. The angel considers those lips for a moment. Then other parts of him consider those lips, and that tongue, and what they can do, and oh he is in trouble now.

Crowley suddenly stands up, mercifully disrupting his train of thought. He yawns and stretches almost cartoonishly large, making the gesture look fake, which, admittedly it is. 

"I'm off to bed," he says, mentally adding _please come with me_.

Aziraphale regards him from the couch. Crowley did enjoy a good night's sleep. The angel hates to infringe upon his rest, but surely Crowley could afford him a bit of cuddling before? And if the cuddling becomes something _more_, he probably wouldn't mind, would he?

"Would you like some company?" the angel ventures.

Crowley smiles and holds out his hand to help the other from the sofa.

"Depends on the company," he jokes, "but always, if it's you." This earns him a dreamy smile on his angel's lips and he spends a moment desperately wondering if it indicated receptiveness.

They don't always go to bed together, especially if Aziraphale is really into whatever he is reading, but it so nice when they do. It probably isn't terribly demonic for him to relish the snuggling like he does, but there is also the chance, he reasons, the snuggling might warm up to something more...

Crowley changes leisurely into his pajamas. So slow, really, that it is past the point of practicality and is obviously meant to be a show of his more attractive qualities. _Oh, look at all these wiles_, he's trying to say, _someone should really be thwarting me_. Aziraphale had not stopped to get a book on their way to the bedroom, which was always a good sign, but when he looks up the angel is sitting woodenly on the side of the bed, looking down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. Crowley sighs. Oh well, he did enjoy the snuggles, even if that's all he was getting tonight. 

The sound of Crowley's sigh snaps Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He had been watching the demon's unhurried slink out of his shirt and jeans and his thoughts were getting so deliciously dirty he'd had to look away. If he doesn't cool down he knows he'll be too flustered to do what he's planned. He takes a deep breath and starts undoing his tie. 

As the angel moves to the buttons on his waistcoat, Crowley lays out tartan pajamas next to him on the bed, smoothing them neatly, an unspoken _I love you_. Just as he makes his way to the other side of the bed and is pulling back the duvet, Aziraphale glances back at him. 

"Oh thank you, dear, but I think I'll leave those tonight."

Crowley shrugs and climbs into bed, thinking the angel must be planning on resting in his trousers and shirt. It's not unusual- he sometimes does if he is only planning on getting up again when the demon has drifted off. Disappointed that he is probably soon to be abandoned for some other interest, he fluffs the pillow under his head and closes his eyes. He listens to the dull clunk of Aziraphale's shoes being removed and hitting the floor, and tries not to mope. Demons shouldn't mope.

Aziraphale is a little disappointed as he folds the last of his clothing and sets it aside. He'd worked up the courage to tell Crowley that he'd get into bed without even the pretense of pajamas but the demon had scarcely reacted. Was it disinterest, or just his normal cool attitude? Either way it unnerves the angel, and feeling suddenly exposed, perhaps like the humans in Eden, he hurries to get under the duvet and cover up what God (and a well thought out effort) has given him. He isn't even sure if Crowley is still awake as he slips under the bedclothes, so he lays there, staring at the ceiling and chiding himself for being so forward. He shouldn't have done this. He should have kept his clothes on, because now he feels like it will be somehow weirder if he gets up to sneak off to the bathroom for a quick wank like he's done... _a lot_, recently.

He feels a hand snake over, on top of the duvet, feels it come to rest on his chest. Underneath it, his hope comes bubbling up. Crowley hasn't drifted off yet, perhaps he could still make his point clear, without tripping over too many words.

"Crowley, dear," he says, softly.

"What is it angel?" the demon murmurs into the pillow.

Aziraphale clears his throat. "It's just... well, I'm really not very tired..."

The angel is almost sweating now. Surely that hint, and the fact that he's completely naked, might get the message across? It seemed about as obvious as one could imagine. 

"Mmmm?" Crowley answers, pulling his arm back. "That's fine, just try not to bang around too much if you get up later."

What wants to come out of Aziraphale's mouth now won't, even if he tries it. But he's so very stimulated by the soft friction of Crowley's satin sheets, and the warmth of the demon's body so close to him, that he can't contain his frustration. "I'm already up, that's the problem," he blurts, irritably. 

Crowley opens one serpent eye and looks at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," the angel mutters, now completely losing his resolve. "Never mind."

Crowley doesn't know what he means, but the last thing he wants next to him, if he's going to sleep, is a restless principality. He stretches out his arm again, under the covers, to placate the angel, and is shocked as his hand contacts the skin of Aziraphale's shirtless chest. After a moment, he tentatively traces his way down naked ribs, to an unclothed waist, and then to a soft hip, where more bare skin surprises his fingertips. His other eye springs open.

"Did, erm," Crowley says hesitantly, "Did you say, erm, that you weren't tired?"

Crowley's hand is still on his hip so, so close to his erection it's left him speechless, but Aziraphale nods vigorously. 

Crowley, finally getting the gist, keeps his hand still but slides the rest of his body closer.

"Angel," he says softly, into Aziraphale's ear, "Did you have something else in mind?"

The angel nods again, and turns to face him, summer-sky eyes disarmingly empyrean in the dim light, lips slightly open as if he's about to whisper. Crowley feels his cock harden in interest. 

"What do you want, Aziraphale?" he breathes, but it catches in his chest. His need has risen up so quickly he feels like there's no room for air. "Tell me," he croaks. 

Aziraphale squirms beneath the hand that is now tracing a path smoothly, lightly down his body. He has a very well developed internal vocabulary for what he feels, what he wants. But wanting it and asking for it are two completely different things. He'd managed only twice in the past few months to give specific instruction about his desires, but those were innocent strings of words (a _yes right there_ and a _slowly, please)_, murmured in a moment already well under way. Getting the proceedings started was completely different, and the humans had made so many of the appropriate words unutterable by an angel.

"I want..." he fumbles as he searches for something that would come out. "Could you...?"

"Could I _what_, angel?" Crowley asks, clipping the _t_ in _what _sharply. He looks hungrily at Aziraphale's lips, wanting so much to see them with lust upon them.

Aziraphale's mind is fighting with his mouth, but he can do this. He's near writhing with need, he has to. 

"Could you... could you put your mouth on me?" he stammers out, finally, his face now blushing hotly.

"Mmmm, of course," Crowley hums. He is so aroused already now, but he wants to hear more, wants him to say what he's really thinking, so he can hear those dirty words on those holy lips. Just the thought of it is making him burn.

"Anywhere in particular?" he teases, pushing him.

Aziraphale opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He closes it again.

"Here?" the demon suggests, kissing his collarbone. "Or here, maybe?" he asks, leaning down to lick at the angel's nipple.

"Crowley, _please_," Aziraphale whines.

"What?" Crowley asks, pretending innocence. "If you don't tell me, I'll have to guess."

He pushes down the duvet and leans in to press another kiss on the angel's thigh. Aziraphale finds his hips reacting of their own accord, straining up eagerly, but meeting nothing. He knows the demon knows exactly what he wants, and is just torturing him now. It isn't very sporting.

"_Please_-" he whimpers again.

Crowley looks down at the angel's effort and runs a tongue across his lip. The angel's pleading is heightening his own arousal, but even more so is his bare-faced need. Or maybe, bare-dicked? He is by all appearances currently very needy in that area, swollen and flushed and twitching, smearing wetness across the slight downward curve of his belly, where it is resting. Crowley wickedly brushes his fingers across it, light and slow. He feels the raised runnel of vein standing out along the length of it, his fingers catch just under the head, where the angel has created himself cut, like Abraham. Aziraphale gasps, then groans, wordlessly.

"If you want it, you'll say it, angel," the demon croons.

This is Aziraphale's absolute limit. "For the love of... of _everything_, Crowley," he blurts out, frustrated, "would you just _felate me_ already?" 

Crowley blinks. He tuts and rolls his eyes. "Really, angel? Felate?" he laughs. He doesn't know why he expected anything else. "I suppose I appreciate the formality, but I don't think it's necessary."

Aziraphale's cheeks are burning so hotly now, it is making his jaw ache. He pulls the duvet back over himself and covers his face with his hands, mortified. The angel feels the rush of air as the demon pulls the cover right back down and shivers as he leaves a trail of kisses, whispering _sorry_ into his skin. There's a whisper of satin as Crowley pulls his pajama top off over his head. This can be messy work, and he prefers the feel of skin on skin anyway. He slides his elbow between the angel's thighs and rests his hand on the ridge of his hip, for leverage. Aziraphale is still hiding behind his hand in embarrassment, but he feels the warmth of the demon's breath on the hair that trails down his abdomen. 

"All you ever have to do is ask, angel," he purrs.

"And you know," Azirphale mumbles between his fingers, "that I can hardly be expected to come out and ask you to su- oh!" he cuts off abruptly as Crowley takes his cock, as requested, into his mouth. 

He feels a mix of shock and relief as the demon goes down on him. He's been positively aching for this, and he knows he'll be done too quickly, but there's nothing he can do about that now. He abandons himself to the sensation, gripping his hands in the sheets and making an absolute mess of the bed, pulling one of Crowley's tidy corners right off the mattress in his ecstasy.

The demon has been the only one to do this to him, so of course it's not a large enough sample size for him to conclude with any scientific certainty, but he can't imagine there is anyone better at this than Crowley. He doesn't speculate about what practice he's had to get this skilled at it- and jealousy hardly suits him. He's just eternally grateful that tongue is caressing him now, that mouth, hollow-cheeked gently sucking him to a high.

Crowley is pleased that Aziraphale wants this enough to ask for it, and reads by the angel's body language that he's doing a good job. He works his tongue rhythmically along the head, probes the opening just a little, which makes the angel suck a deep breath through his teeth. He takes him in then, deeper, against palate and firm flexed tongue, digging the nails of his free hand into the flesh of the angel's arse for purchase. He knows this will speed things up a bit, though he is trying his best to work slowly, to ignore his own arousal which is selfishly urging him to get to his own pleasure. Instinctively, he finds himself pressing against Aziraphale's leg while his mouth works, for the contact, the closeness. It's too much and not nearly enough, but still so much better, he reflects, than the times he's spent over the past millennia occasionally sucking his own fingers while he stroked himself, pulsing his tongue along them and imagining their mutual pleasure. It's certainly a failing, demonically speaking, but he hardly ever imagines receiving his own pleasure without thinking of giving it too. But to be honest he's never been great at Hell's agenda, and anyway, there is still something satisfying, even if he's not being directly stimulated, to the feel of Aziraphale's thick cock, bursting with need and heavy on his tongue.

Having been through a good part of six millennia with Aziraphale, Crowley's grown accustomed to the angel's gestures, his unspoken communication: the way he sometimes smooths his garments as if girding himself with righteousness, how he pleads with brows, how his cheeks plump when he's just so pleased with himself, how he closes his eyes rapturously (just like he's doing now), when giving himself fully to the pleasure of a last bite of something. But now he's studying the new non-verbal language of their intimacy. Perhaps the angel still finds it difficult to voice his desires with words, but this language is getting his point across well enough. Crowley knows already the staccato _ah-ah-ah_ that comes when something gets too intense, the low moan that means he's got it just right and should stay there for a bit, accompanied, sometimes like now, by fingers tangled in his hair. Aziraphale doesn't even need to speak. Each time, Crowley's learning what he wants. Each time, he'll make it better.

But, suddenly, in the frantic swell of his bliss words do come, rising out of the angel like the unfurling of wings. "Oh, Crowley, ohhhhhhh, don't stop-"

_As if he would_. As if he's not getting off on this himself and enjoying every moment of it. The hand in his hair tightens, and the muscles of the angel's thighs go taut beneath him, and suddenly Aziraphale's saying the best thing of all, the thing he was made to be able to say.

"Oh Crowley, _I love you_, I- oh-" 

Crowley knows at this point he just needs to be still, which is fine because it affords him the chance to watch the angel's face as ecstasy passes through it. It's a strange thing, perhaps, for a demon to enjoy so much, but it fills him with pride, so he figures that makes it okay. He turns his gaze up to observe as Aziraphale's eyes clench tight, his brows knit, and his teeth grit like he's in pain, but it's just so he can bear the pleasure, hold himself intact. His nose scrunches too for a moment (adorably, thinks Crowley) just before his face goes smooth again, his mouth now a rapturous o, like he's joining mutely in some celestial choir. The angel arches against him and Crowley feels the fullness in his mouth grow suddenly fuller and a pulse as Aziraphale groans through his orgasm, hand tight on the back of the demon's head. He keeps watching then through it all, glorying in the feel of giving pleasure until at last the angel's eyes flutter gently open, making contact with his. Something passes between them in that look, a communication inexpressibly perfect. 

"Ohhhhh Crowley," the angel sighs, as his fingers relax, and he starts combing them through the demon's hair. "You are magnificent... Do you know- I feel as weak as a newborn lamb, but I'd still move a mountain for you, if you asked right now. Go on, name it. Kilamanjaro? Everest? Everest. Three feet to the left, will that do?" He raises his hand weakly, thumb poised with middle finger as if he's going to snap.

Crowley pulls himself back up the angel's body, laughing, and kisses him. He wonders briefly if it's bad form to give Aziraphale a taste of himself, lingering, but the angel doesn't seem to care. He kisses back and wraps both arms and legs around him, enveloping him in heavenly warmth. Crowley sinks into it with a sigh. 

Aziraphale deepens their kiss, exploring with his tongue that mouth he can't get enough of. Crowley tastes like he smells, of whisky and sex, and he wants more of both, but the scotch can wait, he's already hard again. He hugs the demon tight against him for a few moments, then gradually relaxes his grip.

"Listen, dear," Aziraphale says, still breathy. "I'm sorry I can't always say what you're wanting me to say... what_ I'm_ wanting me to say, really I guess..."

"I know," Crowley replies, grinning, "but you can't blame a demon for trying."

Aziraphale smiles bashfully. "I suppose that's true." He pauses, then continues, "I guess, while I'm feeling a bit bolder for the moment, though I can tell you that I am quite ready for whatever you want to do next. I think it would be very selfish of me if we didn't continue."

Crowley raises his brows. "Well, we wouldn't want that on your conscience, would we, angel?"

Aziraphale looks thoughtful for a moment, the color rising in his cheeks again. "I should also add, while we're discussing it, that in future I should very much like this to happen a little more frequently, if you're amenable."

"Amenable...?" Crowley repeats, trying not to laugh at how much of an understatement it was to say that he was _amenable_. He is also trying to figure out why anyone would think that what the angel had just said was sexy, and yet, here he is, now aroused as fuck.

"It seems I've got centuries of this to get out of my system," Aziraphale explains. "And I know it's hardly fair to put this on you, but since you're the object of the desire, as it were, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it, my dear."

Crowley suppresses now both the urge to laugh, and to start fucking the angel into the mattress right then.

"I am sure I can suffer through," he offers, instead.

"Well," Aziraphale murmurs into his neck, "I'm very grateful."

"Oh," Crowley says, his hand traveling down to grab a generous handful of the angel's arse and pull him close, "You're going to be..." 


	2. Take a bite of me boy (Show me your teeth)

Aziraphale lay on his stomach amid the ruins of what had been Crowley's immaculately made bed, burying his face into his forearms. Patience, of course, is a virtue, and he's always been a big fan of those, but after weeks of abstaining they are finally getting down to having sex, and the anticipation is pleasant and prickling, both. He smiles into his arm, then hums appreciatively to let Crowley know, as he is currently kissing his shoulder and working well lubricated fingers inside him, that he is still very much aroused by the prospect. This preparation isn't _strictly_ necessary for a being capable of slight alterations and minor repairs to his corporation, he reflects, but it does make accommodating Crowley's not insignificant effort much easier. The demon typically insists on it, and honestly, he is so very good at finding and teasing that tingling spot up there... well, Aziraphale is hardly about to complain about the wait.

Whereas Aziraphale is patiently waiting, though, Crowley is stretching his restraint well past where it should have rightly snapped. The angel can take this sensation at his leisure, having one release behind him, but the demon, still wanting his, is nearly shaking with holding back. He is struck dizzy by Aziraphale's boldness tonight, even if it was still wrapped in his angelic demeanor (which admittedly was very appealing), and he means to put it to good use. Now, looking at the other's body sprawled out so enticingly beside him (not to mention the delicious preview of it his fingers are getting)- well, he can't help it if his thoughts are running away to the myriad ways he could take pleasure from the principality. He knows it's a mistake to look down where Aziraphale is opening for him like a wild, ripe thing, but he does it anyway, and the throbbing in his groin is now almost painful. Definitely a mistake.

"How are you, angel?" he asks, breathing heavily now, and kissing at the slightly damp, soft curls at the nape of the angel's neck.

Now it's Aziraphale who is miles away, dreaming of what's going to happen next. The words are a shock, an intrusion on the passionate lovemaking they were already up to in the angel's head. He jolts back to the present moment and to Crowley's probing fingers, feeling guilty.

"Mmmm? Oh yes, wonderful, darling," he answers, turning his head to look, as best he can, at the demon. "But it would be better if it were... _more_."

Crowley pauses. "More what?" he asks, eager to please, as always.

Aziraphale turns his face back to the cover of his arms, turning slightly pink. He hadn't meant it as an adverb. Getting his message across is still very much being blunted by his angelic nature.

"More... of you?" he explains, sheepishly. "Love, you must be able to tell that I'm ready whenever you are."

Crowley's been ready since they were drinking on the couch, listening to Orff's 20th movement. "You sure? I don't want to rush you."

"Quite."

The demon extracts his fingers slowly, and Aziraphale turns on his side to face him._ Dear lord, Crowley is so gorgeous when he's hungry for me_, the angel thinks, flushing. His golden eyes, so intent, remind him of the colour of the cowslips once twined among the bouquets of young lovers (and they too mean _I can't live without you_). The demon's bottom lip is still swollen from its earlier exertion, and Aziraphale leans in to kiss it, to quickly thank that beautiful mouth. Crowley's been very attentive to his needs tonight and he's only too happy to return the favour. "How would you have me, dear?"

_Every way there is_, the demon wants to say. He's been imagining a lot of things he'd like to try this evening, but in the end he decides it's probably best to stick to specifics. Otherwise he might want too much, too fast.

"Start on your hands and knees," he instructs, then tempers his imperative tone by adding, "_Please_."

_Bitilasana-_ cow pose- Aziraphale muses, as he takes the position, remembering his time in India a millennia ago. Now though, _unclothed_, it leaves him feeling a bit exposed. It seems rather silly to be shy at this point- he'd trusted Crowley literally with this body during their swap, so he knows he's in safe hands- but he is, a little. He worries at his lip with his teeth, then tries to take his mind off of it with some logical thinking, shifting his weight, distributing it among his limbs in a way that seems sustainable for the long term. He might be here a while, he reasons. Crowley has shown himself to be capable of quite formidable stamina on a couple of occasions.

The demon sighs, a mix of longing and relief, as he rises to his knees behind the angel. If he could still say grace over anything, he thinks, this might have been worthy of it. He slowly caresses Aziraphale's shoulders, then traces the bumpy range of his backbone down to his waist, digs fingertips in briefly at his hips. He sucks on his bottom lip, then, as he runs a hand over the angel's arse. He can't imagine how it could be any more luscious. He ventures his thumb down the cleft of it, over the entrance he's just readied for himself and groans, internally. As much as he wants to mount Aziraphale in this position and just shag the living daylights out of him, that's not his plan. He wants to make this body talk, make it tell Crowley things the angel's lips can't.

"Angel," he says, teasing him lightly with his thumb, "If it's not easy saying what you want, maybe you can show me, instead."

Aziraphale hasn't got the foggiest idea what he means, but he doesn't have time to ruminate on it before he feels the demon press his hard effort intently against him, his long fingers gripping the angel's hip for purchase.

The demon's voice now is ragged with need. "_Hells bells_, you look so good like this. You have no idea how badly I want to be inside you._" _

Aziraphale blushes and smiles. He has _some_ idea.

"If you're ready for me, just nod, okay?"

Aziraphale, who has been ready for this for ages, honestly, nods emphatically.

Crowley pushes in, with a sharp inhalation, but only a little. Of course he's got plans for getting the rest in, but his length would make the position he's planning on moving them to trickier to start in. Sex with human bodies requires so much thinking about angles, he reflects. Maybe Pythagoras would have enjoyed himself more if he'd really thought about that.

"I'm going to ease you back a little now," Crowley offers in way of explanation as he leans back to sit on his heels, pulling Aziraphale along too, by his hips. The demon is breathing hard now, in concentration, the angel in pleasure.

"Alright," Crowley whispers, settling into the new position, "Come down on me now, angel. Show me how much of my cock you want. Show me how much of it you can take."

Heat spreads across Aziraphale's face and down to his groin like a wildfire. There is certainly no denying how much he wants that demonic dick at this moment, and oh, he wants to show Crowley just that- so, so much. But the demon is also obviously trying to fluster him, and as usual it's working. Tsk. He really should be used to his wicked tendencies by now, he chides himself.

Crowley senses his hesitation, worries it's reluctance. "It's okay," he says, softly rubbing the angel's shoulder, "I love you, Aziraphale, tell me if you don't want this. I'll stop right n-"

The angel, annoyed, realizes that this sort of dithering is exactly what had got them into week long dry spells, and he'll be damned if he's putting up with that again. He spreads his knees open and bears down, lowering himself further onto the demon's shaft, momentarily very grateful for the time the demon spent preparing him earlier. Ohhhh... Crowley is so _hard_ for him, he thinks, as the fullness lights him up... but also so _soft_ for him he reflects then, amused at the wordplay. (Ironically, of course, though that hardness is certainly doing plenty for him right now, it's still the softness, the sweetness, that turns him on so much he can hardly stand it.)

Crowley, eyes wide, quickly moves to guide Aziraphale's angle of descent- he's caught off guard, almost in disbelief that the angel just went for it, but there's a lot that could go badly for the demon if his weight comes down wrong. It's perfect though, and right now it feels so good, being half buried in that heavenly heat. He fights the overwhelming urge to thrust up, a herculean task, as sweat beads on his upper lip. He loosens his grip just briefly to stroke the angel's abdomen, feeling both the softness and the hard muscle working beneath it.

"You feel so good on my cock, angel. Does it feel good to take it?"

Aziraphale nods enthusiastically again. His eyes drift closed. "So good..." he manages to echo.

His arms are starting to shake a bit with the intensity of the moment. Crowley's words have given him a blush that is still burning. 

The demon grins. "Is that it, Aziraphale? You can't take anymore?"

The angel whimpers. Doing this himself in this position isn't exactly easy, but, well, he does want it, wants every last bit of it. Widening his stance a bit more, and pushing off his hands to sit upright he bears down a little farther. He breathes with the sensation for a moment, knows he might have to perform a very frivolous miracle if he doesn't relax more. There's still a bit more to go.

"Oh angel you really are so divine," Crowley murmurs, trying to stay still. "You're doing so well. Do you want all of it? Oh, I think you do."

Aziraphale groans. Crowley talking in his ear like this is actually making it harder, somehow, for him to say anything. Like the many times he'd proposed a plan that bent the rules but didn't quite break them- he didn't object, not really, but he couldn't as an angel verbally endorse it. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself before slowly working himself the rest of the way open on Crowley's cock, grinding down, making minor adjustments to his angle as he takes it in deeper. At last he is as far as he can go, and is straddling the demon's thighs, panting. 

Crowley slides his hand up to embrace the angel from behind, and spreads it across Aziraphale's chest, fingers raking through the pale hair, rests it above the angel's thumping heart. It's soft, he's so soft... but also nothing a demon should ever want to tangle with, when he thinks about it. Sometimes he wonders how on earth they ever got this far. He smiles- it's pretty funny, really. He guesses he owes Aziraphale something for not just kicking his arse back in Eden. 

He presses his lips into Aziraphale's neck, then flicks his tongue across the warmth of it.

"Tell me what you want now," he whispers into the gooseflesh that rises in response on the angel's nape. He feels Aziraphale's nipple hardening now beneath his fingertips, too, and he looks so fucking delicious right now Crowley can't help but grind up into him a little. "Tell me how you want to be fucked," he hisses.

Aziraphale is certain now that if he looks down he will surely see that he is on fire. He's never felt so hot in his life. He never blamed Eve, not really, but honestly it's no wonder she just plucked that apple right off the tree. This serpent is very persuasive. Still, the words won't come.

"Crowley," he moans, "I- I can't-"

The demon presses another kiss to Aziraphale's neck, gently. He was hoping the angel would say that. 

"Then," he says softly, "you'll just have to show me, angel. Go on, fuck yourself. Fuck yourself on my cock, the way you want it."

Aziraphale squirms, wondering how Crowley's words, and the feeling of him throbbing deep inside hasn't already discorporated him, or at the very least made him come all over himself. There's no way he can do that. I mean, technically, yes, he's capable, but, no- he couldn't possibly. But then... well, he _is_ getting so terribly desperate for the feeling of movement. And if Crowley isn't going to do it, what choice did he have? Well, he supposes, if he must... He reaches back, bracing himself on Crowley's waist, slowly lifts his hips and then lowers them. Then he does it again, and before he knows it he's got a good cadence going. It isn't the easiest of tasks, mostly because of the wonderful pleasure threatening to distract him from the rhythm he's building- but he thinks he's not doing half bad. 

Beneath him, Crowley is aching and bursting, and all of the things that accompany a build up of pressure. He finds himself in awe of the angel taking him like this, and not just a little turned on by his confidence. He grits his teeth in arousal, grips his fingers tighter as the angel rises up again.

"Unhhh, angel," he groans, "how the heaven are you so good at this?"

Crowley can't see it, but Aziraphale beams at that- he's feeling pretty pleased with himself, wants it good for both of them. He's definitely thinking he's got the hang of this, but suddenly he's unbalanced when Crowley loosens his grip on one side. Just as suddenly though, the fingers are back, only now they are slipping over the head of his cock in the rhythm of the lifting of his hips. Crowley's palm is warm and slick from where he quickly snaked his tongue across it, and he's gripping so that there's a bit of resistance at each lift, which is heavenly- and then he feels the bang of pleasure from Crowley's cock as he comes back down on it. Every movement now is bringing him overwhelming ecstasy- he will definitely have to thank Crowley properly later. A handwritten note, perhaps? A nice bottle of champagne? A marriage proposal? I mean, it is very good. Well, imagine that, he suddenly realizes, smiling- the demon was right after all. He _is_ very grateful. He winds his arm around the demon's neck, and leans his head back, inviting a kiss that Crowley happily delivers.

Crowley's only regret is that he can't see Aziraphale's face very well in this position. Sure, his arse had looked incredible taking him in, but he loves those larimar-blue eyes, loves seeing the pleasure he lights up in them. He never wants to stop lighting up those eyes. For now though he revels in the feeling of the angel fucking against his hand while he is going deep inside him. He closes his eyes and leans into it, lets himself add a few small thrusts to the fray.

Aziraphale is really enjoying himself now, but he can't quite seem to climb that last peak. They are sweaty, and his hand is slipping where he's trying to brace it on Crowley, and his knees are starting to protest. He knows there's no way he can set the pace he's hungry for, doing this himself. He needs more. He stops and flags against the demon.

"Crowley," he pants, "I can't do this."

The demon's eyes pop open in concern, he pauses mid-stroke on Aziraphale's cock.

"What? Angel, are you okay? What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No. What?" the angel says, breathy, but determined to get the words out this time, "No, I can't... I need- I need it _faster,_ Crowley, I need you to do it..."

Crowley freezes. Wonders if he heard that right. Wonders how he hasn't just combusted, or finished, or both.

"Are you sure, Aziraphale?"

The angel keens in frustration. "Crowley, would you just- _now,_ please!" 

Aziraphale usually has a way of getting what he wants, Crowley reflects. And_ oh_, _he's definitely going to get it_. The demon lingers a second longer, kissing him tenderly. Then, grabbing a handful of white blond curls he pitches Aziraphale forward head first, pins him to the bed and thrusts into him, hard. The angel makes a startled yelp that would have concerned him if it weren't immediately followed by Aziraphale moaning '_oh f-f-f.... yes' _into the bed. Still, he's never been this forceful with him before, and worries that it might have been too much.

"Angel-" he manages, between thrusts and gritted teeth, "-just tell me- _unh_\- if this... is too rough- for you-"

Usually, Crowley caring for him, showing tenderness, makes the angel only want him more, and that's still very much the case, but- _Too rough? _ Is Crowley suggesting he isn't strong enough for this? As if he's some breakable thing? As if a being full of infinite mercy is going to cry uncle... Aziraphale has felt a good many things for Crowley over the centuries, but intimidated has never been one of them. Oh, but he does have words for this. And he is, after all, just a little bit of a bastard.

"Don't you _dare _think," Aziraphale gasps as he is being slammed into the mattress, "that I'm... that I'm going to... beg for _mercy_ from _you_-"

Crowley stops short suddenly, mouth agape.

"-_you fiend_!" the angel adds, for the flavour of it, and cracks up, laughing into the bed.

_Holy fucking shit,_ thinks Crowley, did he really just say that? This night just got infinitely more stimulating.

Aziraphale is on a roll now, much to the demon's delight. "I don't need your mercy-" he continues, between Crowley's resumed (and even harder) thrusts, "I'm an- _unh_\- an _angel_!"

Crowley briefly wishes they'd manifested their wings for this. He can't deny it makes him hot when Aziraphale pulls rank on him, but he's the one on top, and he'd love the visual right now. He thinks of the statue of evil triumphing down the hall, and smirks.

"I'm not -_mmmmmm_\- in the mood-- for mercy anyway," he growls, "So what... will you beg for, hmm, angel?"

"_More_," Azirphale chokes.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, _angel_!" Crowley groans. For someone who was finding it hard to talk about all this, he's doing pretty damn good now.

He spits on his fingers, and reaches under their lurching bodies to grip the angel's cock again, letting Aziraphale fuck his fist in time with the pounding thrusts he's delivering with his hips. Only a minute later he feels the angel come, swollen and spurting, all over the sheets, dripping down his fingers. Crowley bucks into him then with zeal, knowing he's not far behind. _Damn_, he thinks, _I should have put on Carmina Burana two fucking weeks ago_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to stay with Lady Gaga lyrics for the chapter title.  
Sorry not sorry but this is going to 3 chapters apparently. Ooops! I feel like Aziraphale still has wants to express. ;)  
Please enjoy the art but do not post anywhere else!!


	3. Together we’ll both find a way (To make pure love work in a dirty way)

As he presses his slickened, swelling glans against Crowley, Aziraphale shivers and closes his eyes, savouring the feeling. It i_s_ quite extraordinary, he has to admit- like electric shock but far, far more pleasant. Of course he's long appreciated some of the other sensual pleasures this world offers, but there is such an urgency to this feeling, such an aching need, and he licks his lip in concentration as he starts to push, gently, to take what's being offered. He regrets momentarily that he's been missing out on all of this for so long, but reasons there was no way he could have entertained this possibility with Crowley until now, of course, and what would have been the point, really, without him to share it with? He's almost ready to thank the demon for convincing him to make an effort, even if the damn thing has kept distracting him to no end.

Crowley, spread-eagle in front of him, is groaning again- but from anticipatory pleasure this time, unlike the incredulous groan he'd made when, just after his own release, he'd found the angel very hard and already wanting more.

"I did say," Azirphale had reminded him, without an ounce of apology in his playful eyes, "That I've centuries of this to get out of my system."

Crowley had balked. "What, tonight?" He'd brought the angel off twice now, _for evils sake_, and had been inclined to indulge the luxuriant sleepiness that climax always induced in him. Also, he was also starting to wonder if Aziraphale had any refractory period at all. 

"Maybe not all of it tonight, but surely you could manage a bit more, love?" the angel said, patiently.

The demon had sighed, pretending to be put out. "Of course I can, angel, but can you let me catch my breath first?"

"Is that really necessary," Aziraphale asked, smirking, "When I am only going to take it away again?"

More groaning had ensued then, first at his terrible joke, but also because the angel had decided at that point to get stuck in as it were, and pinning him down, had kissed and licked (and then fingered) his way back into Crowley's very good graces.

Now, kneeling before the demon, who is lovingly prepared and looking absolutely scrumptious propped on the pillows that somehow remained on the bed, Aziraphale is thoroughly struck by how lucky he is. It doesn't escape his reasoning that it may have _even_ been all part of the Almighty's ineffable plan to make Crowley so handsome, to disarm him completely and facilitate their friendship. But whatever the cause of his luck, the demon's body is a veritable feast for the eyes, not to mention for the very excitable nerve endings on the head of his cock... and he's going to enjoy every morsel of this. There's resistance as he enters, but it only adds to the pleasure and he stops and sighs, bites his already kiss-bruised bottom lip as he steadies himself.

"Come on, angel," Crowley pants, desperately, his head thrown back, "get it in already!" He's far less tolerant of being teased than he is with doing the teasing himself.

"Patience, dear," the angel tuts, or tries to, his breath catching, "You're still very tight. Could you just relax please, and stop rushing me? I don't intend on wearing myself out by exerting myself as vigorously as you did."

"First of all, it was _you_ who requested I _exert myself as vig_-"

Crowley stops mid-complaint as Aziraphale makes a purposeful thrust that lights his body up from the inside.

"Shhhh, dear. I do believe you've done quite a lot of talking tonight."

The demon gasps in a way that says _you're kidding me_, which turns into breathy laughter, which then itself turns into a gasp of pleasure as Aziraphale deftly lifts Crowley up by the hips and plunges in deeper. The angel is vaguely aware, as he digs his fingers into Crowley's haunches, that the demon's cum is now trickling down the inside of his thigh, but he doesn't bother miracling it away. The sheets are only going to get much worse. It is rather a slippery affair, he reflects, with both of them presenting as male, but now that he's gotten used to it he finds it doesn't bother him, so long as they stay well away from his books. 

When he is on the receiving end of things, he prefers Crowley to take him, fevered and forceful, as fast as he drives his Bentley- it just seems fitting. I mean, what is the point of having a demon for a boyfriend if you can't imagine he is a bad boy at least part of the time? But when giving, well, he prefers to work slowly, methodically, like an artist. He likes every stroke to be masterful, mindful, to mean something when added up to the whole of his lovemaking. And Crowley may sometimes protest at his slower approach, but he rather suspected that the demon didn't entirely mind the tenderness of his approach when laid open and vulnerable like this.

Crowley has always been the more wary of the two of them: circling, vigilant, guarded before he spoke, during the Arrangement. Hell is a place to watch your back, and having one's defenses up is just necessary to survive there. It's second nature, part of his character, at this point. Aziraphale knows this, doesn't speak it- but also certainly doesn't disregard it. He knows what a gift it is any time the demon lets him in, emotionally, bodily, or otherwise. It's a trust he feels he's scarcely earned, to be honest. So Crowley can rail at his gentleness and his patience all he wants, the angel will continue to take his time.

Now deep, Aziraphale starts a slow, steady rhythm. The softness and the blazing heat are so delectable and his eyes flutter closed of their own accord. He lowers Crowley to the pillows and leans into him, thrusting softly.

"Ohhhh Crowley..." he moans low, "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

When he opens his eyes again, Crowley has wrapped his long slender fingers around his own half hard erection and is stroking himself in time with Aziraphale's thrusts. It isn't something he's seen the demon do before, and he is struck with a sudden curiosity about Crowley's masturbatory habits. The demon has been making his effort for millennia, but Aziraphale considers it might be impolite to ask exactly what he'd been doing with it all this time. Possibly he wouldn't want to know, but the visual is so stimulating he can't help himself.

"Do you touch yourself like that sometimes," he asks, breathily, "when you think of us?"

Crowley smiles, a fiendish flash of teeth. "Of course I do," he purrs, eyes half-lidded and warm.

The angel blushes. He'd assumed so, of course, but he does rather like hearing it, likes thinking about how he's caused the demon's enormous cock to fill and strain at his trousers, at his hand.

"It's not as good as this, of course," Crowley continues. "Do you, angel? Do you get yourself off, thinking about me?" He knows the answer already, but he likes to hear it too.

Aziraphale reddens further. He closes his eyes again, not able to face Crowley's slit eyed stare while he answers. "I mean, not a lot, but sure..."

Crowley already knows he's lying and grins. "By not a lot, do you mean every day?"

The angel scoffs. "No! I mean... yes, but it's not like-"

"Ohhhh angel," Crowley hums, "You really _have_ been wanting me, haven't you? I really underestimated how horny you would get. I should have known though, I have seen you eat after all. You have no self control."

Aziraphale tuts and rolls his eyes but doesn't want to argue the point. He does feel like his partner being the serpent of Eden and a diabolical tease counts as extenuating circumstances...

Contemplating the thought of Aziraphale lusting after his infernal body, Crowley feels his cock go rigid in his hand. He flushes, stroking faster, wonders if the angel had still been wearing his bow tie, been still in his shop with his books when he did it. He closes his eyes to picture it better. Maybe he'd flipped the shop sign to closed, but was unable to get any farther than the back room before giving in...

Aziraphale feels himself flush too. Being inside of Crowley feels so good, of course, but he is getting more turned on, possibly, by the show, the demon pulling on himself while getting fucked. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle himself, to cool off a bit. He has every intention of taking his time, enjoying this properly.

The imagery Crowley is conjuring at the thought of Aziraphale pleasuring himself, though, is definitely hastening his own orgasm and he isn't trying to fight it. His eyes closed, he is picturing the angel, trousers down, but waistcoat still primly buttoned, hurriedly stroking his thick effort, moaning Crowley's name as his thumb rubs against the swollen dark head of it, wanting the demon's mouth, perhaps, or his cock deep inside of him.

"Mmmmmm, angel," he moans, still caught in the fantasy. "I want you to come for me."

Crowley's now furious stroking and moaning _is_ in fact, doing things for Aziraphale. The angel regards the sheer size of the thing in the demon's hand, so stiff with arousal, and feels sweat beading on his forehead in response. He can't help but think of it inside of himself, throbbing, but he doesn't want to finish so soon. He orders himself silently not to come, tries thinking of tax legislation, of commonly misspelled words, of anything that will help him hold back. Crowley, on the other hand, looks to him to be well on his way. 

"Not yet, dear," Aziraphale chides, "I'm not through with you yet." He pauses. He knows what Crowley _really _wants. "But you can come for me. Let me see you, darling," he croons.

"Tell me what you think about, angel. When I'm not there," Crowley rasps out.

"Oh, well... so many things," Aziraphale says, his breath quickening, even as he bids it not to. He is trying to keep himself on this plateau, but talking to Crowley like this won't help, and he knows it. "Sometimes I think that it might be nice to... touch you, while we're in your Bentley..."

The demon's brows raise in interest, but his eyes stay closed as he works his fingers over his cock.

"Not while you're driving, of course, wouldn't want to case an accident."

Crowley makes a noise and a face that says _eh I wouldn't really care_.

Aziraphale continues. "I think about touching you... like you're doing right now. Maybe you could guide my fingers, dear, show me how you like it..."

Crowley's eyes open briefly, go wide, then roll back in his head and flutter closed again. He groans. The angel's tongue has definitely loosened now. This could be a bad thing. Or a very _good_ thing.

"I imagine you getting so hard for me, like you are right now... and it makes me hard too." Aziraphale thrusts with a bit more force then, a demonstration perhaps of just how hard he'd be, but also knowing exactly where he is in Crowley's body, and what he's doing to him. He looks down at the demon and sees he's so close, hopes he'll be able to push him over that edge before he falls over it himself. He smiles wickedly, suddenly, knowing exactly what to say for once. He thrusts, double time. "And then I think... you would never want a mess in the car... so I think I'd better put my mouth on you and-"

Aziraphale feels Crowley's body shudder beneath him, and looks down to see that he is already coming, lathes of white adding to the disaster of the bed, dripping and pooling on his skin. The angel looks away and stops his thrusts, has to take several deep breaths so he didn't follow suit. 

After wringing out the last bit of himself, Crowley lays there, chest heaving, feeling his heart beat in his ears. He feels like he could sleep for a week, so spent and satisfied, and utterly wrecked. Aziraphale is still inside him, hot and thick, but he feels so complete, so drowsy he could fall asleep beneath him. After a moment, he feels the angel rub his thigh and take a few strokes, feels the cock inside him harden back where it had softened slightly.

"Oh love, that was so beautiful," Aziraphale says, tracing a finger down his torso, through the slickness of his spend. "You're so beautiful."

Crowley murmurs something too soft for him to hear, and covers his face with his arm.

"Listen, I know you couldn't wait, dear, but as I said before, I'm not finished with you yet."

"Okay," the demon moans weakly, and wraps his thigh around Aziraphale's back, squeezing lightly, pulling the angel inside him deeper. 

"Yes, and I will get to that, love, but what I _mean_ is I want you to get hard again for me. I rather liked seeing you aroused."

Crowley whines. "Angel, I can't."

"Oh, you can, though. And you're going to. For me. _Please_."

"But angel-"

Crowley peers out from under his arm at Aziraphale who is making those eyes that he can never resist, and groans.

"Oh alright, yes, okay. But give me a minute." Crowley huffs an exasperated sigh. He has no idea how Aziraphale's effort seems unaffected by the rawness of nerves after he comes, how the angel is always just suddenly ready again. He has a sneaking suspicion he hasn't made this effort strictly to human specs. Cheater.

"Hmmmm..." Aziraphale hums and starts rocking his hips again, gently. "It almost sounds like it you might be asking me for mercy now, dear. Are you doing that? Are you begging for mercy, demon?"

Crowley gasps, laughing. "Never, you bastard."

"Alright then," Aziraphale says, thrusting deeply, a smugness on his mouth, "Go on."

The demon touches himself and winces. It's still tender. Bastard.

"Incidentally," the angel continues, casually, now thrusting gently, "would you like to try that? In the car, I mean."

Crowley groans as his effort, unbelievably, twitches in response to the thought. "Angel... yes... but-"

Aziraphale's lips curl into a rakish smile. "Well I suppose we could put that on the list for tomorrow then."

"Now who's too fast?" Crowley complains. "You are absolutely not getting me out of bed tomorrow."

"Well of course we could do it here-"

"Not what I meant."

Aziraphale smirks. Crowley might be bemoaning fatigue, but his cock is already responding beautifully, the foreskin retreating again, as he swells halfway to his full glory. The angel wonders briefly if they should switch so he can take it again, but he does so enjoy looking at it, and being inside Crowley does feel very, very good. Maybe for the next round, he decides.

He takes hold of one of the demon's thighs and lifts it then, resting it against himself, the crook of the knee over his shoulder. He'd read somewhere that this could allow for deeper penetration. Crowley doesn't protest, but he thinks it best to check.

"How does that feel dear? Okay?"

"Mmmm... like heaven," Crowley sighs in answer.

"Oh, come now, surely it's better than that," Aziraphale laughs, though this probably _is _considerably better than heaven, for Crowley, despite the fact that the last time he'd been there he'd had the chance to breathe hellfire at Gabriel. He punctuates his joke with a mindful nudge to the demon's prostate. Crowley responds with a sharp "Unh" and grits his teeth, pulls his hood back to accommodate the resulting growth.

The angel is thoroughly enjoying himself, watching the demon writhe with pleasure then, when a thought occurs to him. "Crowley?' he asks, tentatively.

"Mmm?" 

"What do _you_ think about? You know, when you're..."

"Fucking my fist?" Crowley asks blithely, while doing that very thing. "Oh well, you've given me so much to work with over the years, where to start?"

"Have I?" Aziraphale asks, surprised, and stops.

"Yeah, I mean, the noises you made eating those crepes in Paris, for instance. It was obscene." the demon laughs. "If I'd done to you what I'd wanted... I would have been dragged off to the guillotine before I'd finished. Honestly, I don't think I was the only one in that cafe thinking it, either."

Aziraphale's eyes widen. "Were you thinking about us, about this, _that long ago_?" he asks.

"Oh, well before that, angel," Crowley explains. "Remember I've been equipped since Eden, and you know what that's like, now."

He did know. He starts again. As good as those crepes were, he might have pushed them aside to have a bit of Crowley instead, now he knew. I mean, as long as he could have got back to them afterwards, of course. He moans and unconsciously increases the rate of his thrusting, thinking about how delicious and illicit it would have been, rewarding Crowley for his rescue by putting his mouth to other uses instead. Oh _good lord_. 

The effect of the increased speed is not entirely lost on Crowley, who is now considering how the angel's shoes alone that day were just asking for him to be bent over a table. And his hair... well, he is definitely hard again now. "I guess I've wanted you," he says breathily between Aziraphale's solid thrusts, "a lot longer than you've wanted me."

"I wouldn't say that," the angel says, suddenly slowing, a distant look in his ocean deep eyes.

Aziraphale's sexual desire is in the scheme of things a very recent development, but despite that, he _has_ wanted Crowley- in other capacities- for far, far longer. Sure, he'd wanted _this_ for weeks, this feeling of his pulse inside another pulse, but he'd wanted to kiss Crowley since Rome, wanted to be held by him since Golgotha, had fantasized, embarrassingly, about having angelic intimacy with the demon since at least Alexandria, even though he was sure it was quite impossible. His wanting for Crowley goes so much deeper than his thrusting ever could, in truth. This show of love is wonderful of course, but he's made for so much more, can want so much more. He knows that isn't what the demon meant, but the rush of pure love he feels for Crowley comes suddenly like a wave that threatens to overwhelm him, leaving him unbearably, perilously close to becoming a sentimental mess.

"What would you say then?" Crowley asks, interested. There's a brush of something soft against his toes, and he blinks his eyes open to see that they are resting against the pinions of one of Aziraphale's wings, where it arcs up from his shoulder. They are folded behind the angel, luminous in the dark grey of his room.

"Oh- angel- what?" Crowley stammers.

Aziraphale hadn't meant to manifest them, he was just feeling so much- and suddenly they were there. He feels self-conscious. Crowley is staring.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, looking down, readying to will them away.

"What? No- I love it. I love _you_," Crowley says. "Spread them for me."

Aziraphale reddens. How can the demon make something completely innocuous sound so _dirty?_ He does it, though, opens them wide, suddenly grateful for the Crowley's spartan decor, the height of his ceilings. It feels so good to stretch them.

"Mmmm," Crowley hums, "Yes, just like that... Tell me how you've wanted me, then."

"You can't want_ that _dear, not right now," Aziraphale says, trying to regain his rhythm with the added task of balancing wings.

"I think I do, angel. Tell me."

Aziraphale is at a loss for words again. He hasn't the courage to tell him about the multitude of nights he's spent alone in angelic ecstasy, imagining the two of them with nothing between their essences: How he'd thrashed wide sea salt waves against Crowley's cliffs, or welled with nectar as the demon's bee slipped between his petals, or how he'd been like the blazing sun, caressing Crowley's eager leaves in the heated kiss of his rays... He fast-forwards to a memory he can offer. A feeling they'd both shared.

"Well," he says hesitantly, "I've loved you for so long darling... my heart has ached for you since Calvary at least." He closes his eyes at the pain of the recollection. "Oh, if only you knew how much I wanted you to hold me that night..."

Crowley stops stroking himself and looks up at Aziraphale. It isn't what he expected, but he isn't sure what he _had _expected. It's mostly a surprise, to be honest- he wonders if he was just stupidly oblivious with his own longing, or if the angel had been that good at playing his cards close to his chest- he'd never suspected he had felt anything for him back then. They'd stayed together afterwards until the sun came up again, just talking, and drinking too much. To think of the memory through this new lens is wounding and exhilarating, both. Tender and arousing.

"Keep talking angel, don't stop."

Aziraphale blushes again. He really didn't think this was the sort of talk that was going to get a demon going, sexually speaking. "Really?"

Crowley nods and goes back to running his fingers up and down his erection. 

Aziraphale flaps his wings gently. The forward push draws him back and the pull of them behind his back presses him firmly into Crowley. He moans sweetly, lost in the bliss of it. He will definitely employ his wings in this fashion again.

"Do you know what I've wanted?" he says wistfully, looking down then, at what he knows is impossibly the most beautiful creature he's ever beheld.

"Mmmmm?"

"I've wanted to hold _you_, darling. _All _of you. To make love to every part of you."

"What do you mean?" Crowley asks, confused. 

The angel knows he shouldn't say it, not now, not with Crowley so vulnerable beneath him. But he's tilted into it, and means it with all his heart, and he can't stop himself now. He continues beating his wings, slowly, thrusting his hips in time with the drag and the push.

"I want that part of you that's hidden... not just this," he explains, his breath stuttering though, as he is still very much enjoying the _this_. "I want that bit of angel still left in you. Let me touch him."

Crowley stops breathing. He feels stung. He draws a breath to lie and deny there's any such part of him, but the angel cuts him off.

"I know it's too much to ask," Aziraphale continues, "But I am so desperate for you, love. I'm so greedy for every bit of you. I want all of you."

He presses a kiss into the inside Crowley's thigh and notices it is all up in gooseflesh. Neither of them will know if it is due to arousal or fear. "I want all of your fallen parts, too, you know. All of your bruises... I'll kiss them. I love you. Let me take all of you."

The demon bites back a moan, he is still very aroused, and still grasping, pulling at himself, but now tears are threatening at the corners of his eyes. _Shit_.

The angel seems oblivious, keeps going, speaking between panted breaths. "I want to be folded in your black feathers... to look in your serpent eyes..."

Crowley's breath hitches, his eyes are watering, but he doesn't let up the pace of his stroking, and neither does the angel. Aziraphale is relentless, bearing down on him now with the force of his beating wings. He feels the back draft rustle his hair.

“I want everything you are,” Aziraphale pants, letting go and racing now to his climax, his body’s wants and his heart’s wants, mixed. “I want you to lay me down... every night, Crowley and take me too, take everything I am." he gulps in breath. "Take me how I am, how you changed me... strong enough to disobey... I would have fallen, you know... to keep this world... to keep you...”

Crowley is wide open now and suddenly the angel is going too deep, those words dredging guilt from the pit of his heart. He'd only wanted Aziraphale's eyes open to everything. He didn't want him to fall, not on his account. “No,” the demon croaks, “Please.” 

Aziraphale screws his eyes shut now, but tears are somehow still escaping. He leans into the demon, his body braced with one arm wrapped around Crowley's thigh, the other planted on his chest.

“Oh _yes_, love,” he cries between thrusts, his hips snapping, not fast, but so hard Crowley wonders if the rest of the earth can feel it. “How deep... do I have to be inside of you... before you can understand... _how I would burn for you_?”

Crowley can barely breathe. Aziraphale is pressing him with his full weight and wings, but it is light compared to the weight of his love. 

The angel slams into him once more, then stops abruptly. Crowley looks up at him. His wings are spread, his curls dripping sweat. His lashes flutter as he takes a deep breath. 

“Fuck,” Aziraphale whispers, then comes into him, gasping, shaking, his hands digging into Crowley’s skin, into the meat of him below it. 

Choking back laughter in relief, the demon comes a second after. He can't believe he has anything left to spill, is surprised at the eruption that runs down his fingers, down his arm to the crook of his elbow. He hisses at the pleasure and pain of it through gritted teeth. 

After a moment, he lets go of himself gingerly, knows if he touches his cock again it is going to hurt. If the angel wants more tonight, he thinks desperately, he’ll have to be content with hands or mouth unless one of them is willing to perform a very inappropriate miracle. 

Aziraphale is hovering above him, gasping for breath. His eyes are still closed tight but his grip is beginning to loosen. He needs to compose himself before he looks at Crowley. He wants to breathe some of those words back in, but he knows it doesn’t work that way.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

Crowley runs a comforting hand up Aziraphale’s arm. “For what? For loving me?” He chuckles. “I know it must be terrible, but you don’t have to apologize.”

The angel slowly lowers Crowley’s leg, pulls himself away carefully. “For saying too much,” he sighs.

The demon smirks. “Oh no, your cursing will never be too much. I’m adding that image to my spank bank for sure.”

“Crowley!”

“What?" he shrugs. "Wings out and everything. It was perfect. You should have seen it.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Crowley sighs. “Of course I know what you mean,” he says, reaching out to cradle Aziraphale’s face, smearing spend across the angel's cheek, his lower lip. Of course he knows exactly what Aziraphale means, but he can't talk about falling. Not now, not here. “I’ll add the rest too, angel," he jokes. "I love how you love me. I hope you know I love you just as much. All of you."

Aziraphale turns a blushing face into the demon's wrist. He laughs, then suddenly notices how sticky it is. He looks at it. It's a mess. So is most of Crowley.

“Oh goodness... we’ve made quite a mess of your bed, haven't we?” He asks, vanishing his wings, looking sheepish.

“Wasn’t the first time,” the demon chuckles. “Won’t be the last.”

“I’m glad you say that,” Aziraphale perks up, “because I've been wanting to-“ 

"I've created a monster," Crowley groans.

Aziraphale laughs, kisses the demon's forehead tenderly. "Tsk. _Fine.._. For now, I'll show you mercy." He looks down again at Crowley who is smeared with two loads of his own, is laying in one of Aziraphale's, and is filled now with yet another. He's such a delicious mess, and the angel is impossibly hard again, but knows better than to push his limits. "Anyway... right now I think we could both use a nice hot shower."

"Mmmmm... keep talking."

"And then some clean sheets. And then there's one more thing I'd like you to do for me."

Crowley looks stricken. "What's that?"

Aziraphale smiles, angelically. "Let me spoon you for a bit. I always fall asleep so much easier if I'm holding you. For some reason I could really go for a nap."

Crowley kisses him, relieved. "Done," he murmurs against the angel's mouth, then heaves himself up wearily. "I'll start the shower."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a real pleasure to write and I hope you all enjoyed it too. Thank you all so much for the kudos and of course I live for comments!

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not everyone's headcanon that Aziraphale can't use bad words, but for some reason the idea amuses me. Awkward embarrassment does more for me than angst, hopefully there's a few other fans out there who feel the same! LOL
> 
> PS PLEASE do NOT repost this art anywhere else. Thank you!


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